


in the air tonight

by threeplusfire



Series: Bad Things Come In Threes [2]
Category: Hat Films - Fandom, The Yogscast
Genre: Blood, Body Horror, Gargoyles - Freeform, Kelpies, M/M, Urban Magic Yogs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-12
Updated: 2014-11-12
Packaged: 2018-02-25 02:18:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2604956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threeplusfire/pseuds/threeplusfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Smith burns down a church and acquires a gargoyle. He intends to keep him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in the air tonight

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the gorgeous fics posted by other people in this collection, and [the stained glass gargoyle](http://boaillustration.tumblr.com/post/102409602780/so-we-got-talking-about-stained-glass-gargoyles-on). Thanks especially to Dexanari for continuing to fix my commas with the patience of saints. Thanks also to the community of early readers and shared headcanon chats and the numerous fantastical things I've seen on Tumblr.

They drove down the empty streets with the windows down on a night that smelled of smoke and fire. Ross didn’t say anything, leaning his head against the edge of the door. Soot stained the side of his face. Up close he was even more interesting, all built of stone and glass and magic. The long pale lines of his nude limbs stood out against the leather of the seat. Street lights reflected off the glossy length of his tail as it waved and tapped against the seat between them. Smith watched him while he turned the wheel with one hand. 

Smith drove them to a place he liked, one of those ruined waterfront buildings that might have been offices, or maybe condos. Sometimes they stayed here for a day or two, or maybe even three. It was quiet. Trott liked how it brought out the reckless. Smith liked being so close to the river where he could just walk right into the water holding someone’s hand.

Ross followed him out of the car, still silent. Beside him, Smith sang snatches of songs under his breath as he picked his way through the mess to the highest floor that would still bear any weight. Up on the third floor part of the wall gaped wide, catching the wind coming up the long twisting line of the river all the way from the ocean. They stood silhouetted against the sky, looking out at the river and the city light. The church fire was behind them. Ahead was the river and the other side of the city, where steel and glass towers rose up meet the sky. The floor above them had collapsed, rendering the rooms double height up to the still mostly intact roof.

Smith knew there had to be some way to make sure Ross stayed, and all the ways were dirty. 

“How long has it been?” he asked at last. Ross didn’t answer for a moment, still and staring out into the darkness.

“A long time.” He swallowed, still not used to speaking aloud.

“No one ever came back for you.” He trailed his fingers over the gargoyle’s shoulder, up to one pointed ear. “No one ever renewed your wards. They forgot you.”

Ross’ eyes flashed, a bright and searing blue. He turned his head slightly to Smith.

“I’ll give it to you,” Smith whispered.

“Give me what?”

Smith grinned and pulled him back from the edge of the broken wall. Further back still in the wrecked building, there was a pile of scavenged furniture dragged from gods knew where to form little groupings. A couple chairs in a semicircle around a coffee table, scarred and pitted. Two sofas put at right angles. A sagging brass framed bed, a stack of mattresses waiting for a princess and a pea. Boxes crumbling, wooden spools turned on the their end, detritus littering the unfinished concrete floor.

“The whole city’s your home now,” he whispered. “But you need a place to call your own.” His breath ghosted warm over Ross’ neck, recalling the fire burning up through the rotting rafters of the only home he’d ever known. He kept silent, waiting to see what the kelpie would say or offer. 

“You should come stay with me, and with Trott.”

“Why?”

“Because I want you to,” Smith said, as if that was all the reason required. Ross opened his mouth but Smith’s hand was on his head now, smoothing back from his forehead and down to the nape of his neck in a gesture Ross hadn’t felt in years, so long he couldn’t remember. It made him want to weep. He closed his eyes and leaned hard into the touch, losing himself and not caring. He could feel Smith’s lips on his forehead, hand stroking him so carefully as if he was entirely glass and might shatter. Ross shifted closer, clawed fingers settling at the kelpie’s waist. He didn’t feel any fear about what might happen next. Things were so far gone down this path that Ross just thought whatever might happen could not be any more horrifying than decades of watching the world leave him behind to rot in loneliness and doubt.

Lips pressed hot to his mouth, a tongue pushing him open. It was so easy. Ross let himself fall. He was starving for the contact, the touch on his skin bringing him more to flesh. He could feel more than he had in ages. Something fluttered inside him, yearning for Smith’s hands and his eyes and his mouth, for more of what the destructive stranger brought to his door. It felt so good to be wanted.

Watching Ross rub his face against his hand, Smith wondered if anyone had ever done this before. Perhaps he was taking away whatever virginity this living statue possessed. One might think a creature born in a church would retain something of the old time religion. None of that piety remained in his pale eyes though when looked at Smith. It was all hunger and need and darkness. The thought amused him. He should have brought flowers or something for the occasion, or whiskey. How often did you take something like this out of the world? It felt like a murder and he gloried in it.

Smith knew some bits and pieces, more than Trott gave him credit for, and he knew there would be blood. Ross keened as he took his hand away, a lonely little sound. His tail twitched back and forth behind him, a deadly shadow.

In the mess of the floor was plenty of glass. Smith walked through it, his boots crunching. He tossed his jacket over the back of a chair and beckoned Ross over to the sofa that seemed most intact. The gargoyle climbed up on the back, and the wood creaked beneath his weight. Smith flung himself down to keep it from tipping over, laughing.

“Stay with  me .” He held up his arm. Ross looked at him, some wonder and question in his face. Smith reached out to draw him closer, his smile flickering. The hesitant gargoyle swallowed his questions and any reservations. He wouldn’t be alone anymore. He’d have someone to watch over, to protect. Did it matter who that was now? The men who built the church were dead and gone, and their children weren’t coming back. He was alone. Ross climbed down onto the cushions to crouch beside him.

The shard of glass dug into the bare crook of his elbow. Blood welled up, dark and greenish black in the sliver of light. The kelpie reached out again, all invitation and welcome. There was no reason to say no. He didn’t want to say no.

Ross bent his head to swallow the blood welling out of the shallow cut. It was more than the scant handful they used the first time, when they made him. It was stronger too, inhuman and wild, and it burned on the way down. 

The kelpie shivered too, whispering against Ross’ forehead. He’d never tried anything like this. Magic like this was old and weird, a thing he hadn’t the patience or temper to master. Trott would probably do it better but fuck if he was here to make this happen. Trott told him to do whatever he wanted. He wanted Ross, and he would keep him. 

When Ross lifted his head, a smear of blood on his chin, Smith kissed him hard. Claws curled possessively around his forearms and he smiled against Ross’ mouth. He let the gargoyle push him back and they stretched full length against each other. Ross was heavy, his skin cool to the touch. Smith let his hands roam, fully appreciating the skill of whatever dead sculptor shaped the perfect curve of Ross’ ass. He wanted to catch the gargoyle’s tail, test the sharpness of it in his hands. But Ross was kissing him fiercely again, teeth catching his lip. They sank into the cushions, dusty and smelling of mildew. 

Smith hissed and pushed until he was free enough to peel off his own clothing. Ross watched him, silent again. The cut in his arm had clotted, leaving just a smear down his forearm. He knelt naked on the sofa and Ross licked his arm clean of the dried blood as Smith stroked his head, fingers rubbing around his horns.  Ross pushed himself into the touch with little gasps, eyes blinking shut. He grabbed Smith’s hand, trying to force the touch to linger.

He pushed Ross onto his back and climbed on top. Ross whimpered, soft little noises growing steadily louder as Smith pressed against him.  His hands dug into the sofa, ripping through the rotted fabric and stuffing. He tossed his head back, and Smith caught his breath a little at the grace in the lines of his throat, the living stone shifting and shining. The kelpie bit down, trying to drive his sharp teeth into the skin to find out if he could bleed. Ross moaned louder as Smith held his head down, a hand on one of his  blue glass horns and teeth worrying a gash into the side of his neck. Ross tasted like stone and dust, and what passed for blood inside him was silvery with a poisonous sheen. Smith tried not to swallow it, uncertain just what it might do.

His hips bucked and Smith drove all his weight into holding him down. They rutted against each other, Smith encouraging every blasphemous cry Ross uttered. He wanted to see the gargoyle undone beneath him, all need and desire. Smith found it achingly beautiful in the way of ruined things. 

“The things I want to do to you,” he whispered into Ross’ ear. He slid a hand between them to caress the length of the gargoyle’s cock, all shimmering blue glass that glowed faintly in the dark. Ross made a wordless reply, grinding his hips against Smith’s so that he groaned and shuddered into a climax. Beneath him, Ross echoed his sounds. This was new and it was so good he didn’t want it to end. The rapture burned through him, just like the blood. With his eyes tightly closed he cried out and the sound thrilled Smith all over again. His tail ripped a gouge through the back of the sofa.  Smith let himself go limp, resting heavily on Ross’ chest to catch his breath. He propped himself up on one elbow, ignoring the sticky mess between them and the destruction of the sofa.  

Ross touched his neck, feeling the edge of the wound. His gaze unfocused for a moment, and he dropped his hand to hang down to the floor. Smith watched in fascination. Beneath Ross’ fingertips, cracks spread in the scuffed concrete and a little puff of dust rose as it crumbled and pitted in a little circle.

“Nice trick,” Smith grinned. “Very nice.” The gash in his neck was gone. Smith rubbed a thumb over the smoothness, marveling at the strange feeling of living stone. There was just the barest hint of a give to it, but it was definitely cool and too firm to be flesh. 

Ross shrugged, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips. He let his eyes close for a moment and nuzzled his head into Smith’s arm. It felt so soothing and Ross wanted to just stay like this as long as possible. When he felt Smith shift away, a disconsolate whine escaped him. He tried to catch the kelpie with his tail.

“Come on, we’re not sleeping here.” Smith slipped out of his grasp and picked up his clothes.

“Where then?” Ross rolled to his feet. He frowned at himself, scraping the come off his stomach with one hand. It reminded him unpleasantly of bird shit. 

“Home.” He chuckled as he wriggled back into his jeans. “As pretty as you are, Ross, we need to find you clothes, too.”

“Why?”

“Because you can’t wander the city with your dick out the entire time, mate.”

Ross looked down at himself and shrugged. It didn’t matter. He’d do whatever it was that pleased Smith if it meant he was going home. The word rang with a bell-like smoothness, deep and comforting inside his head. 


End file.
